For every joy that stirs her heart,
For all the songs that tune her soul,
And every breeze that tells it's tale
Soft and light-burthened from the vale,
I hold a love-sworn rivalry.
The richness of each Autumn night;
The wealth of day's last coloring;
The fragrance of the wind-blown rose
That in her path a blessing strews,
Pay court, as I, in rivalry.
Yet these soft arts of nature tell
A fuller meaning to my soul.
They whisper counsel in their sigh,
And teach their ways to me, that I
May conquer in this rivalry.
Thomas N. MonoAN, Jr.